Hey all, god-damn it’s been a long time since I wrote a fluffy story! I used to hang out on fluffy booru when it was still a thing and lately have been lurking on this little corner of the internet gaining a bit of inspiration to do a little writing again. Obviously this is my first post here so if i screwed anything up make sure to let me know so I can correct it. Anyway, this is an old WIP I never finished that I got some inspiration for from y’all, hope you enjoy:
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You lean back in your chair, wiping your sweating forehead with your arm. It’s covered in sweat too, so it doesn’t really offer you any relief. You stare up that the ceiling fan as sit turns ever so slowly, you’re not even sure if it’s on or if there is just enough air movement in the room for it o be moving the fan. Either way it’ stuffy as hell and you’re sure it’s only going to get worse.
Be John Carlson, fireman.
Oddly enough, the old book Fahrenheit 451 was actually right. Well, half right anyway, you are a fireman who burns books, but not because they’re full of dangerous ideas, but because they’re full of dangerous paper. Fluffies, those little genetic abominations are capable of eating paper to survive. Ever since the advent of ebooks and audiobooks, people just don’t buy paper books as much anymore, and so libraries and bookstores are becoming obsolete. This means that hundreds of thousands of books are often sitting in old libraries or huge warehouses, just waiting for fluff-balls to discover them.
Your job is to find these places and eradicate them, and the shit-rats they inevitably contain. You’re good. Hell you’re the best. You are, because you have to be.
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Be a fluffy smarty, blue with a light green mane and tail. Your herd has been wandering around for days, looking for more than just a handful of scraps to eat. You’ve found enough for most of your herd to press on, but it won’t be long before even more of them start to take forever sleepies.
A cold wind hits your fluff, forcing it up and letting the cold down near your skin. You shiver and look back at your herd, doing their best to plow through the snow. Your special friend, a white pegasus with a faintly pink mane, is very, very pregnant, and is doing her best to keep her belly out of the snow.
“Why stahp speciouw fwiend?” She says, shutting one eye against the cold of the wind.
“Sowwy speciouw fwiend, jus vewwy vewwy cowd.” She nuzzles your rear flank, it almost feels as good as a hug. It spurs you on. The sun is getting low in the sky, and the wind hitting you is extra cold. It’s almost night, and you’re sure your herd won’t make it through the night without better shelter than a cardboard box or a garbage can. Just up ahead you see a window, it’s down low to the ground, snow is covering a lot of it, but you can see that it’s broken enough that you may be able to fit through. You head over and sniff at it. It doesn’t smell like hoomans, but there is a smell that doesn’t quite smell like nummies, but it might be, and you can’t risk passing up shelter and nummies. You look around to see your herd slowly congregating around you. You spot the brown fluffy. Being brown every fluffy knows he’s the last to get nummies, and the first to be put in danger.
“Poopie fwuffy, nee yu.” He looks up at you with fear, and very slowly, even considering the snow, shuffles towards you.
“Why smawty nee Bwownie?” You boop his nose for his insolence.
“Yu nu am bwownie yu am POOPIE FWUFFIE!” You sternly inform him for the hundredth time since he was born. “Yu nee go in howe and wook an see if is safe and dewe’s nummies! Dummeh poopy fwuffy!” You stomp your hoof trying to emphasize your point, but it only ineffectually squishes in the snow. He looks at the hole in the glass and takes a step backwards. Your toughies, having snuck up while you were talking lash out with their hoofsies, connecting with his sides and pushing him back towards the glass. “Yu nu gun get nummies nu mowe if yu nu go in howe!” You tell him as they push. He reluctantly steps towards the hole and slowly puts his head in.
“Is dawk, nu wike…” He starts to back out a little but stops before your toughies can even raise their hoofsies. He shudders, but he pushes in a little farther. “Nu see nummies, but nu is cowd.” He crouches down a little under the broken glass and wriggles all the way in. “EEEEEP!” You hear a thump as his rump dissapears with a flash of his neon pink tail.
“Yu get huwties poopie fwuffy?” you see him suddenly stick his head back out.
“Nu, nu huwties. Dewe’s a wittah faww wight inside, but nu gifs huwties.” he pulls his head back inside and you head over and stick your head inside to look. Your eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. There seem to be a lot of things you’ve never seen before. They aren’t trees, or rocks, the closest thing you’ve ever seen is a box but these are much sturdier. Continuing your survey you see places for hoomans to sit and lots of colorful things that aren’t fluffies. You take a step in and indeed there is a little bit of a fall onto the first not-tree. You look back out at the herd.
“Otay hewd, we gun sweep in hewe, soon-mummahs fiwst, den tuffies, den uddah fwuffies.” You pull your head back in and head along the boxie thing to find a good way down.
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The summer heat is overpowering the cheap air-conditioner the company installed after getting sued by a guy that got heatstroke last year. Despite the fact that it’s only cooling one room, with the door shut, it’s still unbearably hot inside. Doesn’t even seem like the damn window unit is doing as much as the worthless fan on the ceiling. Miserable pricks couldn’t even get one that could manage this miserable little room with barely enough room for two miserably cheap desks. You pick up some papers of the table in front of you and try to fan yourself, but it does little good. Cripes what you wouldn’t give for a cold six pack and a swimming pool right about now.
“Carlson!” your bosses voice snapped and crackled across the phone intercom. Miserable antiquated low tech cheapouts instead of a basic cell. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself down there and hit the button!” He rolled is eyes to no one in particular and hit the reply button.
“Yes sir. No longer feeling sorry for myself, sir.”
“Shut up and get down here smart-ass, I finally got another job for ya.”
“yes sir!” You say, this time with no sarcasm or insubordination, ok maybe a little, but it’s nice to have something to do again since you’ve cleared out the worst of the infestations locally. Might have to branch out into less specialized fluffy extermination soon, but that was way above your pay grade.
Slowly creaking open the door to his office your boss slaps down two sheets of paper on a clipboard. The basic form he has to fill out for an assessment and estimate, and the address with a short history of the property on the second sheet.
“Old private library. Some old codger tried to hype it up as some exclusive thing for paper loving perverts like himself but it fell into disrepair when he got shipped off to a home. Now that he’s croaked his estate needs to sell the thing for top dollar, so we need to make sure to dispose of everything dangerous off site. Don’t you fucking dare forget the upcharge in the quote this time.” You wince slightly before you catch yourself. That little mistake had cost you half your commission and ruined any slim chance you hay have had for a bonus before the end of the decade.
“No sir! Not screwing that up again.” You eye the property history a little. 3000 square feet in the refinished basement of an apartment complex turned miniature mall. Technically his estate owned the area it was in but not the building itself. Hopefully that would mean minimal if any infestation since a big one probably would’ve been noticed well before they sent you in to clean up the books.
“… charge per square foot. Any questions?” You look up at your boss having completely zoned out for most of what he said when one did cross your mind.
“If our job is to get rid of paper why the fuck do we print these out on paper instead of just using cell phones like a normal business?”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
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Sitting in your nestie you watch as your newest litter of foals squirm and peep around you and your special friend as she gives them milkies and then licks them clean. Your bellies are full of the not pretty tasting white nummies you found everywhere in here when you first found the place so many bright times ago. At first the herd didn’t really want to eat them but hunger quickly won out and you found that once you got them down they weren’t so bad. Besides there were enough here that no fluffy in your herd had had even a little bit of tummy hurties in so many forevers. You were so happy to have found this wonderful place with bright colored pictures and nummies, and in one corner even some toysies!
You look out at your heard, once barely more fluffies than you could count, now there were so many. You and your special friend had had many many babbehs here. Your babbehs had babbehs, and even their babbehs had had babbehs. So many happy babbehs gave you so many heart happies. Getting up you make your way to the poopie pile to make some good poopies.
“Gud bwite time, Poopie fwuffy!” you say cheerfully as you approach poopy fluffy’s poop nest.
“Am Bwownie…” poopie fluffy mumbles dejectedly. You turn your rump to him and unload all over his face, heedless of the fact that he was once again ignoring what you’ve told him.
“Make gud poopies fow Poopy fwuffy nummies!” you say cheerfully as you walk away. Back before you found this place poopy fluffy had to be watched carefully so he didn’t steal any good nummies from the good fluffies. Now, however, he couldn’t num anything but poopies! When you found this place he fell off one of the tall boxies and his leggies got hurties so he couldn’t walk anymore. He also made a very soft landing pad for the soon-mummahs after the toughies dragged him over to where they were jumping down. You turn the corner of one of the boxies toward your special friend and just barely hear the soft huuhuus coming from the poopie pile.
“Smawty fwend! Smawty fwend!” You look to see Rumble running up to you as fast as his hoofsies would carry him. “Wumbwes speciouw fwend Cwobah an’ Tumbwes speciouw fwend Fwowah say meanie wowdies to each udda untiw Cwobah giffed Fwowah sowwy poopies! Wumbwe knu dat am ‘pose tu gib Cwobah sowwy hoofsies, but Wumbwe nu can, Cwobah am soon-mummah!” Your thinkie place was already working on the problem. Clover, giving sorry poopies to Flower? This was serious. You walk out ready to dish out some fluffy wisdom and justice. Following Rumble you get find the two pregnant mares still yelling at each other and crying about the meanie things the other says. Clover sees you and is about to launch into what happened when a creaking noise interrupted her. The wall behind her, which you only now realize is a door, creaks open to reveal a human standing there. Clover turns slowly to look, fear spreading across her face.
“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.” The human says, and all hell breaks loose.
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SLAM!! the door thunders into it’s frame behind you as you race back out into the alleyway that doubled as a delivery dock. You reach into your pocket to grab your cell phone and call your boss, fumbling stupidly for a minute at your pants before you remember your personal cell is in your desk back at the office. You would grab your work cell but of course the cheap bastards couldn’t be bothered to get you even a burner. You look around a spot a little shop that doesn’t look too busy across the street from the alley entrance. You shuffle your way trying to formulate what you’re going to say to get your boss off his ass.
“Excuse me,” you start as you walk up to the cashier in what appears to be a little convenience store type bodega. “Any change I could borrow a phone? I, uh… forgot mine at work.” A little white lie was easier than trying to explain. The college kid across the counter looked at you with a mildly suspicious eye before holding out the phone he’d been poorly hiding behind the counter.
“Here, just be quick.” The kid said as he glanced up at the security camera pointedly.
“Thanks” you grunt and take half a step back as you dial your office’s number. “pick up asshole” you mutter as the phone rings several times.
“Good afternoon, Paper Pyro-Pros, how can I help you?” your boss says in a badly faked cheerful voice.
“Boss, we have an infestation.” you take a slightly deeper breath. “A real infestation. Not just a few fluffies.”
“Bullshit, there’s too many stores for that many fluffies to build up without someone noticing.”
“I don’t know how they avoided detection but there’s at least a couple dozen and I think there’s more. I don’t have enough bio-bags to bag them all.” You hear your boss sigh over the phone, knowing he’s also pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Get in there and start bagging, make god damn sure you count them! I’ll be there in a few with extra bags for you.”
“Thanks.” You manage to get out just as you hear the tone from your boss hanging up. You hand the phone back to the college kid with another “thanks” and turn to head out.
“best of luck with the shitrats.” You hear from behind you.
“Thanks again, I’m going to need it.” you reply over your shoulder.
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A hooman. Fear courses through you and the rest of the fluffies who saw him. Screams and poopies fly as fluffies start running, scaring fluffies in other rooms that didn’t see him prompting even more screams and poopies going everywhere. You run looking for a place to hide. You’re the smarty, so obviously you’ll find the best place to hide!
“Spechiouw fwiend! Spechiouw fwiend! Hewp mummah an babbehs!” your special friend calls out as you run by. You pause for half a second to yell to her.
“Nu cawe dummeh! Nee wun an hidesies!” you bolt off looking for some hole, crack of crevice to hide in.
“buhuuhuu, wai speciouw fwiend nu wub mummah an babbehs nu mowe?!” your special friend cries as you rush off. You spot a space behind the not boxies near the wall that you could just squeeze into and head for it, doing your best not to walk through the pile of crushed babbehs squished in the chaos. You get up to the space and look in to see a light blue babbeh, clearly a talkie babbeh, hiding inside looking at you with wide, fearful eyes.
“Pwease nu wet babbeh get huwties, smawty! Am gud babbeh nu wan huwties, huuhuu.” You look at him angrily.
“Wai babbeh hidesies in smawty hidesy pwace?!” you practically hiss at thim. He shrinks back further into the space.
“Peep, nu huwties! Chirp! Was pwayin hide an gu peep! Nu gif huwties!” the babbeh crouches down and covers it’s head with it’s hoofsies. You turn your rump to the babbeh and start to squeeze into the space. It’s tight but you can just fit. The fear of the hooman still has your stomach in knots as you feel your backside press up against the babbeh. “Peep!” you hear from behind you. “Peep! Peep! Chirp!” the babbeh keeps making noise behind you, obviously terrified.
“Shuddup dummeh babbeh!” you tell him, trying and failing to keep your voice down in case the hooman comes back. The peeps and chirps keep coming from behind you, the moving head occasionally touching your rump. You get angry and an idea occurs to you. You lean back crouching down with your rear legs a bit to press your backside against the babbeh, muffling the peeping in your flufff.
The door that the hooman opened before opens again. Involuntarily you try to scrunch further back in, scaredy poopies spurting out. You crush yourself down in harder, the babbeh behind you suddenly struggling like mad against your buff fluff. Fearing the sound the babbeh might make might give your hiding spot away you push down on him harder, more scaredy poopies running into your fluff and down your legs. The babbeh struggles even harder for a second before slowly, his movements slow and his struggling stops. You turn your attention back to the sound of the hooman invading your herd’s nest, confident he’ll never find you here.
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Back inside the infested former library you survey the scene. Your brief appearance apparently scared the little shits completely out of there minds. There were crushed foals, some still crying and squirming, many already growing cold among the streaks and piles of shit. Several fluffies were covering their eyes in the middle of the room muttering thing about not seeing the “munstah” and “nu gif huwties”. A shiver ran down your spine. For whatever reason fluffspeak just grated on you. A little kid mispronouncing words was cute, they were figuring things out and would get better with time. These shits were just mimicking that in the grossest way possible so some fuck could make a quick couple bucks. You tried your best to shake off the feeling as you pull out your inadequate supply of zipties and your woefully undersized bio-bag to get started.
“One,” ‘ziiip – huurk!’ “two,” ‘ziiip – huuurk!’
“Nuu gif huwties! Am soon mummah!” ‘ziiip – huuurk!’ “Three” Three fluffies and your firt bio-bag was half full. Of the two you had in the truck. It was shaping up to be a long afternoon.
“Carlson!” your name echoes through the building. You quickly twist the neck of the foal in your hand and set it down in the pile, having run out of zip ties almost forty fluffies ago.
“Forty-eight, In here boss. I’m almost up to fifty.” Your boss comes in holding a whole roll of bio-bags. You’ve never seen a whole roll outside the supply closet, so clearly he took you seriously.
“Yeah I heard you, here’s forty-nine and fifty.” He says holding up a long stick with a sharp spike on the end, the exact kind used to pick up garbage on the roadside. Fittingly there were two foals speared onto the spike. “How many rooms have you cleared out?”
“Two. The first room you walk into and this one.”
“didn’t do a very good job if I found these two that easily.” He shakes the two foals off the spike onto your pile. “Here’s the bio-bags.” He holds out the roll to you, “get them bagged up and get to the next room while I double check the rooms you ‘cleared’” You take the bags with a small scowl and start shoving bodies, some still twitching into them. “Call out numbers as you bag new ones. Your boss heads back into the first room and soon cries of “Hewp, Mummah! Screeeee!” followed closely by “Fifty-one!” came back to you. You shake your head and finish bagging corpses.
Poking your head carefully into the next room you see a similar scene from the previous two rooms. Fluffies trying to hide by covering their eyes, several trying to shove their heads into the bookshelves. Crushed and living foals scattered among the remains of books eaten by the herd and the shit streaks and piles caused by a panicked herd. In here however you see one mare, a white mare with a pale pink mane and tail sitting in the middle of a ‘nest’ of shreds of paper crying as a few foals press against here and peep in distress.
“Wai spechiouw fwiend nu wub mummah nu mowe? Buuhuuhuu, am gud mummah, nu am bad fwuffy, wai nu wub nu mowe? Huuhuuhuu.” You wonder if you could somehow slip her into the truck without boss noticing. Colors like that would sell for a pretty penny, especially if she was still capable of breeding. Nothing comes to mind immediately so you just resolve to leave her until last. Maybe worst case you can offer to split the money with him. You start grabbing the fluffies and twisting necks.
“Fifty-two!” ‘crack’ “Fifty-three!” ‘crack’ “Fifty-four” ‘crack’. You spot just a tail sticking out from behind the door, grab it, and pull back and up.
“Screeeeee! Bad upsies! Put fwuffy down am gud fwuffy, nu gif huwties an…” Not letting him finish you swing him by the tail to smash his skull against the corner of a display table with an empty display stand. One eye was sticking out of the socket but wasn’t completely dislodged from smashed skull. It seemed to stare at you sightlessly as you held your bleeding prize.
“Fifty-five”
Fifteen minutes later You had cleared up all the fluffies you could see except the potentially valuable mare and her spawn. Your boss walked in holding four foals and an almost grown colt up for you to see.
“Sixty, do I gotta retrain you… again, Carlson?” Shit, missing that many was bad, but then again this infestation particularly large so maybe it wasn’t that bad?
“No sir, I’ll scour this room better.” you point at the mare you’ve left. “Those colors could be valuable… y’know, what the folks in the head office don’t know won’t hurt them right?” Your boss looked at you sourly before jamming the spike through the sobbing mare’s throat cutting her sobs off with bloody gurgles taking their place as the fluff of her belly turned crimson. “Damn, okay, guess not.”
“You know no fluffies leave here alive. I don’t care how valuable they are. They’re here, they die.” He holds the dying mare up to you still on the end of the garbage spear. She looked at you and held up her front legs to you, clearly looking for a hug. Reaching up you twisted her neck without pulling her off the spike. Much to your surprise as her spine snapped it released enough pressure that your twisting motion actually twisted her head full around, separating it from her neck, her corpse falling onto one of her foals beneath her with a quiet ‘crunch’.
“just her other foals.” You say with confidence, before quickly remembering and adding “and any others I find scouring the room!” You nod at your boss with confidence. He shakes his head pulling out a cigarette and picking up a tied bag of bodies.
“Scour it good. I’m gonna take a smoke break and toss a couple bags on the trucks. If I find one fluffy still alive I’m gonna dock your time sheet.” You weren’t sure he’d actually do that. You weren’t sure he could do that. Still you didn’t want to find out, so you got down and started moving books, sticking your head in nooks and crannies. You even managed to coax a couple of foals hugging each other inside a small hold in the wall by promising them that you’d be their new ‘daddeh.’ Mimicking their speech made your skin crawl until you just grabbed them by their faces and crushed their head in your hands.
“Seventy-three, Jesus that’s gotta be all of them.” you say to yourself shoving them into a bag. Still you didn’t want to run the risk of pissing your boss off more so you get down to keep looking. Peeking behind a shelf you spot an adult fluffy crammed into the tight space between the shelf and the wall.
“GU WAY DUMMEH! WEAB SMAWTY AWONE!!” You reach in and try to grab him as he tries to rear back and get further back from you. You catch his front leg, just barely, closing your fingers around his leathery hoof. You squeeze as hard as you can to make sure he can’t get away. “SCREEEE! NU HUWT SMAWTY!” You feel his teeth sink into your hand as you yank as hard as you can to rib him out. Well, he definitely bit you but he also definitely didn’t break the skin. You hear a pop followed by a sucking sound and another “SCREEEEEE!!!” as your hand suddenly comes flying out holding the leathery coating of his hoof and nothing else.
“Shit” you curse as you look back in. His leg is hanging from his shoulder, clearly dislocated, bleeding from the exposed tissue at the end of his leg. His eyes have started dilating, tears running into his fluff, and his breathing quickened. Looks like shock may already be starting to set in. You try to reach in to get him but much to your surprise he ducks down and bolts past your hand. Shockingly fast for a fluffy, nearly impossible for a fluffy on three legs, and his spurt only lasts a couple steps past your hand before he collapses directly onto his injured leg.
“SCREEEEEE! WAI HUWT SMAWTY!” He screams at the top of his lungs struggling to get his weight off his ruined leg. You reach over and grab him by his scruff, slowly standing up ignoring his further wailing. Looking at the shitrat in your hand you notice another pair of smaller legs stuck to his rear end.
“Well, I guess it’s seventy-five then.” You say as you reach up with your other hand and unceremoniously grab his head to twist.
“Nu gif huwties tu smawty! Tuffies gon gib yu wowstest sowwy hoofsies and fowebah sweepies!” His final threats give you a little pause however and a little sadistic impulse hits you.
“You mean the ‘tuffies’” you say mockingly, “whose necks I snapped?” He looks at you with fear and desperation.
“Dat… dat nu twue. Tuffies gun gif yu wowstest stompies and sowwy poopies.” You smile wickedly at him. And shift your grip from his head to his good front leg. ‘Crack-pop’ the leg popped out of it’s socket as the smarty renewed his screaming. You thought about breaking and/or dislocating his back legs too, but the sound door opening prompted you to shove him head first into a bio-bag to suffocate there.
“That the last one?” Your boss gruffly asks, the scent of tobacco wafting just barely over the reek of shit and blood.
“Well, two, there was one stuck to the shit caked onto the other. So seventy-five.”
“You sure?”
“Yep, I crawled all over on the floor, moved shit, I’m sure.” much to my chagrin that’s when a small, weak voice came out of the pile of shit near the end of one of the bookshelves.
“Nu fowget Bwownie-hi-hi, buuhuuhuu! Nu am Bwownie, am poopie-fwuffy, wan die!”
“Shit.” You curse.
